


19 May 1536

by iprefermagneato



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Execution, Historical, Tudor Era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-08
Updated: 2015-06-08
Packaged: 2018-04-03 12:49:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4101576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iprefermagneato/pseuds/iprefermagneato
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Although Arthur's opinions on Anne Boleyn were of utter ridicule, when it comes to her execution things start to change. </p>
<p>One shot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	19 May 1536

Arthur was not sure what he thought of her at first, in fact, he found her to be quite of a nuisance. It was evident that her mannerisms were extracted from France, which had often offended the English court, and most certainly it had struck nerves with Arthur. Not to begrudgingly mention the fact that she made his already volatile King even worse. Yet there Arthur stood, in the early hours of the morning, amongst a sea of people who rambunctiously crowded around the scaffold. They were all here for one thing; the execution of Anne Boleyn.

Amongst the chatter, Arthur could only stand still. He knew very well that this was wrong but he could do nothing to prevent the events from happening. The last time he had attempted to advise King Henry VIII the monarch had utterly spit Arthur’s words right back into his face. Arthur had only implied that it would be an unwise thing to go against the Pope but as King Henry put it, he was doing it for all of England and that the Anglican Church would be for England’s greater good. The words had intended to come out sweet, but all Arthur could hear was that ringing malicious spite.

So when Anne Boleyn and his King finally wedded, Arthur secretly sided with those who thought that Catherine of Aragon was the rightful Queen. Certainly this was never to be admitted out loud to anyone, but his opinions were well guarded. Though now things, Arthur supposed, were different. It took a gradual time to get used to Anne, but he was finally starting to see her as the prize she was. Charming, quick-witted, and always in good spirits. Though it was all too late. One moment they had been chattering, finally having lengthy conversations, and the next moment he was in the room where she had her trial. Staring her in the face. Tight lipped. No words spoken.

This same stance happened in this very moment. The crowd simmered down upon the first indicator that their former Queen was stepping out. How cruel it was to be such a sunny day, the sun’s beams slapping up against Anne’s face as now she stepped out of the shadows and into the crowd. She stood up so firm, her head held up high despite walking the pathway towards the Angel of Death. The people were starting to receive her, making the signs of the cross, gently patting her shoulder, or simply just giving her that stare of remorse, as she cut through them.

Arthur, however, could not manage to give her anything. He could only wait with bated breath as his former Queen now started to proceed up the stairs of the scaffold, her ladies-in-waiting trailing behind. The executioner and priest were already there to receive her, a blanket of silence now gently falling upon the crowd as Anne asked to speak her final speech.

With permission granted, Arthur could tell that Anne, good sweet Anne, was going to make her words count. He had to reposition himself, standing up straighter so that he might be ready to catch these words, whatever she tossed. On the outside he looked like a statue, but his insides were swelling with grief. This was not the first execution he had seen, he reminded himself that, but he knew as well as anyone that this was an innocent woman put to death.

Her lips opened, each word spoken deliberately; “Good Christian people, I am come hither to die, for according to the law, and by the law I am judged to die, and therefore I will speak nothing against it…” this was how she began, no indicator of a single tear. Her loud words caught the ears of everyone, and despite being the representation of England itself, Arthur did not even feel remotely different from his peers, he blended in so finely.

Though there was this one moment that caught Arthur off guard. He had his eyes locked on her the entire time, so he really should have  
expected it, but it nevertheless almost made his stomach lurch. Anne’s gaze caught his, piercing through him as if these were the words that were meant for him; “… I pray God save the king and send him long to reign over you…”, Arthur could not tell if that was sarcasm he detected from her lips, especially at a time like this, but he felt utter disgust at the mention of his King and the prospect of the many years to come with him. It seemed like an eternity before her eyes reluctantly, but smoothly to the other audience members, peeled away from Arthur. 

Arthur’s eyes still remained on her, sucking up as much as he could of her presence, her last moments on this Earth. Whereas when they first met he mentally ridiculed her, now he revered her to the point where he felt nauseous. In an attempt to calm down his spiking nerves, his cold hands pinched at the cuffs of his sleeves, trying to fixate his numbing mind on something else. As long as Anne spoke, he felt at least somewhat alright, but soon her concluding words had met their time; “…O Lord have mercy on me, to God I commend my soul.”

Arthur’s heart by now was absolutely pounding, but thankfully he looked stone faced as ever, his emotion incomprehensible to the outside man. Anne’s ladies-in-waiting, who were in a far worse state than she was, removed her robe, earrings, and any other luxury items that adorned her. Then over her head, in replacement of her headdress, was a white cap so much as to ensure her hair would be tucked in. Her ladies-in-waiting went off to the edge of the scaffold, weeping in pain, whilst the executioner bowed for his former Queen’s forgiveness. 

By this time Arthur’s hands were unwillingly digging into his skin, but that truly went unnoticed by him as he was far more focused on the event about to unfold. Anne started to kneel down, her hands folded and pressing up to her chest. As this happened, the crowd around the scaffold simultaneously joined her. Arthur himself found that his motions were automatic. He simply did not think about it as his knee kissed the ground. Anne Boleyn murmured her last words repeatedly; “To Jesus Christ I commend my soul; Lord Jesu receive my soul.” 

In these moments, as the executioner pulled out his sword, Anne gave Arthur one last firm look. He had utterly no control of his body at this rate, just giving a sorrowful nod, the silent promise that he would take care of himself, as Anne’s country, and that he would be sure to take care of her daughter, Elizabeth. For the little girl’s future was at the highest of stakes. 

Finally, in one sharp swoop, the sword met with Anne’s neck, slicing through her skin and immediately detaching her head from her body.  
In that moment Arthur learned something about himself. 

He did care. He cared an awful lot.

**Author's Note:**

> All words spoken by Anne Boleyn were the actual words she spoke during her execution.


End file.
